Commander Tucker Falls in Love
by Alelou
Summary: A newly expanded, corrected collection of 'missing scenes' between Harbinger, e2, Zero Hour, and Home, plus a couple that happen during Home. TnT all the way. Romance, humor, angst.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note:_ This was the first Enterprise story I posted, but I wrote it before I owned the DVDs and I got stuff wrong. I wanted to fix those errors, and trim a little clumsiness, and then once I got into it a few new scenes demanded to be written. The new 'missing' scenes are from Zero Hour and Home. This is T because of language and sexual themes.

_Disclaimer: _CBS/Paramount's, not mine.

**Prologue: Exploring Human Sexuality His _Ass_**

He hadn't wanted to make love to her in the first place. That's what he kept telling himself after she'd told him she was just "exploring human sexuality."

First of all, it was stupid to get involved with a fellow officer. And it was even stupider to try to have any kind of intimate relationship with someone who was always claiming to have no emotions.

Even if that was obviously a great big load of hooey.

And also exactly how he'd gotten into this mess. She couldn't quite hide her disappointment when he claimed he wasn't jealous, and after that he just couldn't stick to his story. Especially since it wasn't true.

But that didn't mean he wanted to have sex. Well, who was he kidding, of _course_ he wanted to have sex – but that didn't mean he was stupid enough to actually do it.

And while it was highly gratifying to discover he was attractive to someone as generally aloof and as generally gorgeous as T'Pol, it was also nuts. This wasn't like her at all.

Was it possible the expanse was really getting to her? Hell, that could be bad news for the mission. He'd have to keep on eye on that.

Of course that was pretty much what he did already – keep an eye on T'Pol. Who could blame him, right?

He sighed. What had he expected, that a little sex might actually allow him to get closer to a Vulcan? Maybe the expanse was getting to him too.

So, okay, it was just sex. An "exploration of human sexuality."

Looked at that way, Amanda probably would have been more fun. Not that he had time for that kind of thing with her, either. But a feisty MACO vs. an uptight Vulcan who couldn't have had a whole lot of sexual experience?

Oh Lord, had he had sex with a Vulcan virgin? It sounded like a bad joke.

Probably not. It wasn't the best sex he'd ever had, but it was far from the worst. Of course, knowing her she'd probably read everything there was on the subject back when she'd had that bug up her ass about them going to Risa. T'Pol was nothing if not thorough. And while technically proficient, the whole thing had gone a whole lot faster than he'd have liked. He'd high-tailed it out of there pretty fast, before she could throw him out. It wasn't like she was going to want to hang out and cuddle.

Which was where Amanda probably would have been a better choice. She would have wanted to hang out afterwards. And yeah, maybe it was a little girly of him, but he could use a cuddle now and then. Especially now.

No way would T'Pol just lie around in a guy's arms. Any more than she seemed interested in any encores. What did she think, that she could judge a guy on a first time? That was hardly fair. There was a species difference!

And he hadn't wanted this complication in his life in the first place! If he could have said no, he would have! What's a guy supposed to do if a naked woman jumps on him? Tell her to take a hike? How the hell was he supposed to work with her again after that?

So fine. If it was just a little exploration of human sexuality, he could just pretend it never happened. He probably shouldn't even go for any more neuro-pressure sessions.

Damn. Just when he was really starting to enjoy them, too. Not just the therapeutic value, or the lovely views. He loved the conversation. He loved the sound of T'Pol's voice when it was pitched low and soft. It had begun to feel like coming home at the end of a hard day.

He shook his head. Let it go, Tucker. This one had "no-win scenario" written all over it.

**The Sex Lives of Vulcans**

Trip buzzed T'Pol's quarters. He hadn't gotten around to telling her he wasn't going to do neuro-pressure anymore, and then it came time for the regular session, and somehow his feet had just walked down the corridor and taken him to her door.

In fact, before that they'd also walked him out of mess hall and back to his quarters and into the bathroom to brush his teeth. And as long as his feet were just taking him places he'd figured he should wash them. And if he was going to do that he'd figured he might as well take a shower and change into some nice comfortable sweats.

He was wearing his red t-shirt. Amanda had told him it was a great color on him. If T'Pol told him to take a hike maybe he could go look for Amanda.

See, this wasn't a no-win scenario at all – it was a no-lose scenario! Charles 'Trip' Tucker III could get some nice warm female attention any time he wanted.

His confidence dipped a little when she didn't answer the door. Where the hell was she? He buzzed again. Finally, the door slid open. T'Pol was in her robe again. Her eyes were two deep brown pools staring at him. She didn't say anything, just stepped back to let him in.

Any confidence he had left at that point flowed right down through those traitorous feet of his and disappeared into the deck. What the hell was he thinking? T'Pol could shred his ego into tiny little pieces of confetti without even wanting to, just from being clueless.

"Um, ya sure this is okay?" he asked. "I know it's kind of awkward."

"Vulcans do not experience feelings of awkwardness," T'Pol murmured. "Please disrobe." She gestured to the meditation mat on the floor.

"Lucky you," he said. "I feel awkward enough for both of us." He took his shirt off. "Which posture first?"

"We can begin with the feet."

Thank God. It was the most collegial and the least potentially sexual, at least for him. He was no foot fetishist. On the other hand, once he had her left foot in his grasp he realized how cute her little toes were, how lovely the curve of her arch…. He shook his head and tried again to focus.

She worked his foot and he breathed through it just as he had been taught. The discipline of Vulcan breathing really did help; soon he felt calmer, more centered.

"Why do you feel awkward?" she asked.

His stomach tensed. So much for calm and centered. "You really can't figure that one out?"

Her brows furrowed. "You are uncomfortable because we had sexual relations."

He smiled grimly. "Bingo."

She looked apprehensive. "Why?"

He searched for the most logical explanation he could give her. "With humans that kind of thing usually changes the quality of the relationship."

T'Pol appeared to be considering his statement while she worked on his foot.

"What about Vulcans?" he asked, and gave up any pretense of proper breathing. "Doesn't a sexual encounter change anything between them?"

"Vulcans only have sexual relations with their mates," T'Pol said, then clarified, "Their husbands or wives"

She told him to lie face down, and he did, happily. He loved this posture. It was totally relaxing. It was easier to ask nosy questions too. "So you were supposed to save yourself for Koss."

Her fingers paused in their work. "That is correct."

"And then what? Have sex with him once every seven years?"

She didn't respond.

"So tell me, are you all set for seven years now? Or does it count if all you're doing is … let's see, how'd you put that again? 'Exploring human sexuality'?"

"What we engaged in was hardly the _pon farr_."

Had she just insulted him? But her manner didn't seem calculated to offend.

She continued, "My mother once told me that Vulcan couples may choose to engage in intimate relations outside of _pon farr_, even though it would not result in children. She said it was not entirely logical, but that it could be an agreeable way to experience the marriage bond."

"We're not married, T'Pol."

"I realize that."

Her tone was even drier than usual. He eyed her curiously, wondering if there was possibly more going on with her than she claimed. "So why me?"

"First, there appeared to be a mutual attraction. Second, I did not think you would object. Humans are known to choose sexual partners outside of marriage. In the time I have known you I have noted a number of liaisons with women across the galaxy..."

He scowled. "That's not how you put it the other night. You said that Sim told you I had feelings for you. _Feelings_. You didn't say Sim told you I'm happy to bang any piece of alien ass I can get my hands on."

She looked a little confused by the colloquialism. "You're getting emotional."

"No kidding! You may not have any feelings about this, but _I _do."

She rose to her feet, so he did too. She walked to the window to look out for a moment, then walked back to him. "What is it you want from me?"

He looked closely at her and decided that she really meant it. And that she really didn't know.

And that she was afraid.

Suddenly he was ashamed of himself. He was doing exactly the same thing he'd done so many times before: trying to make an alien fit his own ideas. He was trying to browbeat a Vulcan into behaving like a human woman in love.

"Look, just forget it," he said, and sighed. "You'd think I'd learn."

"Commander?" she said uncertainly.

"You are who you are," he said. "And I'm trying to make you be something else. I apologize." He sighed. "I should go."

"We have not completed the neuro-pressure session."

"Maybe some other time," he said. "Or maybe not. I'm not sure I can comfortably touch you anymore." He swallowed over a sudden lump in his throat.

T'Pol looked stricken. Obviously stricken, as if she wasn't even attempting to hide it. Something was not right here. He said, "Are you okay?"

She turned abruptly away. "I'm fine."

"Should we be worried about you?" Trip asked. "Is it the Expanse?"

She turned back, her face schooled back into something closer to normal, though her eyes still looked too large in her face. "It is possible I have not been devoting enough time to meditation."

"Another reason to let the neuro-pressure go. It's been interfering, hasn't it?"

She just stared at him, wide-eyed, which he took as a yes.

"Look," he said, grasping for some way to leave matters between them on a decent footing. "Things are stressful enough right now, for all of us. Let's just go back to business as usual. You know I've got your back, and I know you've got mine, same as always, even if we don't always see things the same way. And maybe, when we're done with this mission, we can check in again about this other stuff. What do you say?"

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded almost imperceptibly.

"All right then." He smiled tightly at her and resisted the urge to hold out his hand so they could shake on it. "Guess I'll catch ya later, then."

As he walked back to his quarters he realized what he'd said. _Catch ya later._ As if someday he actually could catch that mysterious Vulcan heart of hers for his own.

He shook his head. Even if by some strange twist of fate he could, that didn't mean he should.

**To be continued (with a brand-new scene in the next chapter)**


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: This begins with a lightly revised scene then moves into a brand-new scene.

Disclaimer in the first chapter.

**Parenthood's a Bitch**

Trip grabbed a cup of coffee and a ration pack and sat down in the furthest chair at the furthest table at the furthest wrecked recess of the mess hall. He didn't want company. He just wanted time to think while he fueled himself for another grueling repair shift.

Okay, so he and T'Pol had a kid who was 100 years old, or had been. Did Lorian even exist anymore? Technically he never had now, right? And in this timeline, as T'Pol had taken pains to point out, there was little chance he'd ever be born. Hell, there was little chance she'd give him the time of day.

She'd become a virtual recluse when she was off duty. But she was also undoubtedly in better control of herself, so perhaps the isolation was what she required. He should be glad for her – although he suspected she was lonelier than she let on.

But that didn't mean he wasn't plenty sorry for himself. It was obvious she had no more interest in neuro-pressure or any other non-work-related contact between them. His little attempt at checking in with her the other night had made that clear enough. Short of an overwhelmingly good reason like being hurled 100 years in the past, she clearly had no remaining interest in him at all.

Which was fine. He shouldn't be interested in her anyway.

So he was kind of surprised when she picked her way through the mess hall and sat down next to him.

He didn't say anything, afraid they'd end up in another argument like the last one, when he'd tried to engage her with talk about their future selves' marriage and she'd rained on his parade and then stomped all over it and kicked the floats to pieces while she was at it.

It was really annoying how she could always wait him out. "What'd you get?" he asked finally, unable to bear the silence.

"Baked potato and cheese sauce."

"Are you okay eating all this dairy?"

"The ration paks do not offer many vegetarian options."

"Sorry about that. We should be getting the galley back in shape soon, if we make it past the rendezvous with Degra."

"I will survive. Vulcan children drink milk."

"Cow's milk?"

"There are no cows on Vulcan. They drink mother's milk, or a synthesized version of it. But this does not seem to be causing any significant difficulties for me."

"I don't suppose Vulcan children are breastfed," he said. "Probably not held all that much either." The poor little buggers were probably systematically starved of affection from the moment they popped out.

"Infants are traditionally breastfed until the age of two."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That's pretty long."

"Vulcan children take longer to reach maturity. The parent-child bond is also considered very important. There is a great deal of physical contact between mother and child up until the age of five, when formal instruction begins."

"What about father and child?"

"I believe that depends on the father," she said. "From what early memories I retain, I believe my own father was not lacking in physical affection."

Trip chewed his sandwich and wondered why they were having this conversation.

She tilted her head. "Judging from our interactions with Lorian, I suspect he had a better relationship with his father than with his mother."

Trip snorted. "I wouldn't say that. He _shot_ me, and he nearly destroyed both ships." He sighed. "I don't know, T'Pol, it looks like maybe we screwed up that kid."

"No doubt he was doing what he thought best."

"That's what the parents of problem children always say. I wonder what _he_ ate growing up. I think he was a little shorter than me – maybe you wouldn't let him have any meat."

T'Pol looked pained. "Humans seem inordinately concerned with height."

He smiled. "Well, there's still a general belief that tall guys enjoy certain advantages. More likely to get the girl ... to get the good job..."

"You appear to be of average height, and I have not noticed that you lack for girls. Nor is your job lacking in status."

"You should have seen me in seventh grade, before I got my growth spurt. I wasn't average then, I was a little pipsqueak."

T'Pol tilted her head. "I believe I did see you. Sim did appear to leap quite suddenly from one size to another as he grew."

Trip was nonplussed. Sim seemed to have loomed awfully large in T'Pol's life for someone who was only on the ship a couple of weeks. "Seems like you were pretty close to him," he said.

"There was hardly time for that," T'Pol said. "But I suspect his knowledge of his lifespan accelerated his relationships with the people he cared about."

It struck him forcefully that she actually described Sim's relationship with her that way. He tried to imagine her ever telling someone else that _he _cared about her. It just seemed ludicrous.

There was something he'd wondered about for awhile. "Did you and he...?"

"No," she said, but then to his great surprise, added, "I wish we had. It would have pleased him, and there would have been no time for him to feel awkward afterwards."

Trip was depressed to realize he still felt jealous of himself. "Regret can be a powerful motivator. Perhaps that's what ultimately led to Lorian. It could explain a lot. It's funny how things work out sometimes, isn't it? Or don't." He sighed and drained what was left of his coffee. He needed to get back to work.

T'Pol merely looked pensively at him as he got up to leave. When he got to the door, she was already lost in a PADD.

He realized what she'd done: she'd called a truce – done what she could to repair their working relationship after their spat. Over the years she'd gotten smarter about things like that.

**"You May Buy Me a Drink"**

He couldn't believe that Jon was dead. Another loss to pile on top of the others the Xindi had cost them, except that this time he couldn't even hate the Xindi for it.

Well, he could hate the Reptilians. But somehow he just couldn't summon the energy. The Insectoids had already apologized for their role in launching the weapon, and the Reptilians were blaming everything on one rogue general. They were probably just being cold-blooded snakes in the grass, but Trip's cynicism was only a shadow of the full-bodied hatred he'd managed to carry around for so long.

This loss wasn't like Lizzie's. Jon had died doing his job, doing what he loved. He'd known the risks. It was completely different.

And yet it seemed that every loss for the rest of his life was going to feel just like Lizzie. Not just feel like it, but _be_ it. Every loss dredged up all those unbearable feelings all over again, then just added a layer of new ones.

At dinner – was it really just a day ago? – he hadn't actually intended to invite Jon and T'Pol to the 602 Club. Good manners had required him to make the invitation once he'd blurted out his plans. Assuming earth survived – and he'd be damned if he was going to assume anything else – he wanted his staff to get a chance to cut loose and whoop it up. They were long overdue for it and they wouldn't be able to have much fun with the captain in the room. Even Trip planned to stay on the periphery once things got going, just make sure nobody got into trouble.

But Jon would have understood. If he'd shown up, it would have been early, just to make an appearance, raise a glass to his engineering crew, and then move on – and take T'Pol with him, if she didn't understand the oppressive effect of a senior command presence in the room. Which she probably didn't.

Not that Trip didn't like the idea of buying T'Pol a drink in the 602 Club. He just didn't want to do it with his entire staff there.

And right now, frankly, he didn't care if he never saw the place again. Not when Jon couldn't be there. No Jon. No A.G. No connection to that part of his past anymore, except in his own head.

It was still so hard to believe this wasn't just a bad dream.

His door chimed.

He got up and raised the lights in his cabin and opened the door. Technically, he was in bed, but he hadn't even gotten undressed. He hadn't expected sleep to come anytime soon.

T'Pol had Jon's half-empty bottle of bourbon in one hand and two glasses in another. "May I come in?"

Trip nodded and stepped back to let her in and experienced an odd sense of déjà-vu as he watched her stride over to his desk.

She poured two drinks – one much smaller than the other – and gave him the larger one.

"To Jonathan Archer," Trip said, and raised his glass.

"To Jonathan Archer," T'Pol echoed, and they each drank. She grimaced at the taste. "I have noticed that you and the captain sometimes share a drink when you receive bad news."

"That's true, we do – we did. It was kind of you to think of this."

"I hoped I would not be disturbing your sleep."

Trip grinned. "Well, you know how good I am at that."

"Perhaps a neuro-pressure session would help."

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said softly. "But thank you."

T'Pol looked down for a moment, then took a surprisingly large gulp of her drink. "I should go." She went to put her glass on his desk.

"I can't believe he's gone, can you?"

She turned back. She looked concerned. "You don't believe he's dead?"

"No, I don't mean that. I just can't take it in. It doesn't feel real. I keep expecting him to hail us any minute."

"Perhaps it is because he has escaped from so many other perilous situations before."

"See, you're still using present tense yourself."

T'Pol said nothing. She looked exhausted. "Sit down," he said. "Join me for awhile. There's no rush, is there? The Aquatics still have to make up their mind whether they'll take us home. From what Jon told me that could take nearly as long as it would take us to get there on our own."

"I have been assured it will take no more than a few hours."

"Then you have time to sit down. It's customary, you know. When someone dies, their friends and family gather to remember them."

"When someone dies on Vulcan, the family goes into ritual seclusion."

"Then this is _our _ritual seclusion. Come on, sit down. Tell me your favorite Captain Archer story."

Somewhat to his surprise, she sat down on the bunk next to him. "I don't believe I know any," she said.

"Of course you do. Tell me about the first time you met him."

Her head tilted. An eyebrow went up. "The first time we met, he said, and I quote, "You have no idea how much I'm restraining myself from knocking you on your ass." This was in front of Ambassador Soval, Admiral Forrest, and several others."

Trip laughed. "Are you kidding? He never told me that."

"I did not consider it an auspicious beginning."

"No, I'm sure not. I seem to recall Porthos freaked you out too, when you came aboard." He smiled.

"Vulcans don't—

"Get freaked out. Yeah, I know. And then Itried to shake your hand. Another inauspicious beginning, huh? And now look at us."

She clasped her hands and leaned forward off the bed, her posture screaming that she was perched for flight. He experienced a moment of intense pessimism: After all they had been through together, how likely was it to really mean anything in the end? Except for finally revealing her age, she was as elusive as ever. Even if she accepted a Starfleet commission, they might not even end up on the same ship, especially without Jon around to lobby for it. "Can I ask you something?" he said, suddenly determined to satisfy his curiosity while he could.

She turned her head slightly toward him and waited.

"Why would you want to 'explore human sexuality' before you've even explored Vulcan sexuality? Unless I'm wrong about that."

"You're not wrong." Her voice was soft.

"Okay. So?"

She glanced briefly at him, then returned to gazing across the cabin at the far wall. "I believe you have become unduly fixated on that one unfortunate phrase. As I said before, I'm sorry if I offended you."

He grimaced. "The phrase isn't what I found offensive. I'm just not sure what happened. Either it's as you said, and you used me for sex merely to satisfy an impersonal curiosity, or you lied to me about why you did it. And I still don't know which it was."

She swallowed, still refusing to look at him. "I behaved badly. I apologize."

"I didn't bring it up to get an apology. I can let it go, either way. I just want to know why you did it."

"Why?" she asked sharply.

He licked his lips nervously. Why not tell her? He might never have the chance again. "Because it matters to me. Look, I realize this is probably not anything you want to hear, but lately you're pretty much all I think about."

She paled.

Crap. He took a shaky breath. "Don't worry about it. If I know it's just me I can work harder on getting over it. You…"

But by then she had crawled into his lap and stopped his lips with hers.

It took him a second for his brain to catch up to what was happening and kiss her back. He couldn't believe how good it felt, even in the midst of grief. He was alive and she was alive and she was in his arms, and it felt as if finally, _finally, _the universe had righted itself.

She drew back and looked at him. Trip couldn't stop smiling. With renewed self-confidence he said, "Promise me you aren't just exploring human sexuality."

"I'm not," she said, and descended on his lips again.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight, and explored her bourbon-tasting mouth. Further discussion could wait. Mourning Jon could wait. _Everything_ could wait for this.

**To be continued**


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Thanks for reviews, past and present and at any time or place. This begins with a scene from the original version of this story, then has a brand-new scene that takes place during "Home."

* * *

**Are We There Yet?**

"So how long is this trip gonna take, again?" he asked, already bored. The transport ship _Destiny _was, in Trip's opinion, poorly lit and in dire need of numerous upgrades. And why the hell had they painted the interior such a dismal brown?

The human captain had greeted them with something less than enthusiasm, although he clearly knew who they were, and reacted coolly to Trip's offer of engineering assistance. Their images from the ceremony at Star Fleet had been all over the news – but so had a growing movement in opposition to space exploration in general and alien contact in particular. A transport ship captain seemed a poor candidate for such opinions, so Trip couldn't explain the hostility. Maybe he just disliked eager know-it-alls from Star Fleet.

"3.8 days," T'Pol said. She was reading something at one of the tables in the passenger lounge. He supposed he should be glad she had come out to the lounge, instead of holing up in her tiny quarters like most of the passengers. There were only about a couple dozen on board, as far as he could tell, and they were all either Vulcans or humans used to Vulcans. Based on his efforts to introduce himself over lunch, they were a taciturn bunch.

She looked up from her reading as he paced back and forth. "There is a gym on board if you are in need of exercise."

He grimaced and sat down at the table across from her. "Teach me something I should know about Vulcan before I get there."

She raised her eyebrows, then put the PADD down. "There is a traditional greeting given when you first encounter or take leave of someone. You hold up your hand up, thus" – she demonstrated – "and say, _Live long and prosper_." The most common response is to return the gesture and say _Peace and long life_.

Trip held up his hand and gave it a try. It wasn't particularly difficult. "That's all?"

"That's all," T'Pol said. "Do not attempt to shake hands or deliver any other physical embraces. But I believe you already know that."

"Yep," Trip said. "Maybe I should learn how to say it in Vulcan."

She gave him a weighing glance. "I would not recommend it. Vulcan is difficult for most humans to pronounce, and there are many words with similar meanings. My mother speaks fluent Standard. And you have your universal translator if needed."

"I'd still like to pick up a few words. Looks like I've got plenty of time to work on it."

"Are you aware that this transport offers an extensive database of popular entertainments? Perhaps you could research future movie night options."

That perked him up. "Do you want to watch some movies with me?"

"No. I wish to read some of the scientific articles I missed while we were in the Expanse."

He bowed his head. Why had he thought this invitation signaled any real change in their relationship? "Guess I'll go find that gym," he said, and got up.

"Trip."

He stopped short. It still gave him a little glow of pleasure him when she called him that. "Yeah?"

"Perhaps you could choose a movie for us to share after dinner."

His heart swelled. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

x x x

The first challenge was an engineering one: how to set up his cramped quarters to show a movie to two people in a way that would be potentially cozy without being too obvious.

The bunk beds in his quarters had view screens that dropped down at a comfortable viewing angle for somebody lying down. Obviously, they could each just lie on a bunk and watch the same movie on their separate screens. But he'd be damned if he was going to settle for that.

So he spent a half an hour swapping out the screen on the top bunk and installing it across from the bed on the wall, jury-rigging a connection to the desktop data port that was going to irritate the hell out of the captain of this ship if Trip didn't put everything back perfectly before it was discovered.

Next he needed to scrounge some pillows to create a sofa-like configuration in his bottom bunk, so he and T'Pol could sit in there and watch the movie without it being completely obvious that he had wrangled them both into the same bed. He did this by telling T'Pol he needed something in her quarters, then making off with the pillows on her top bunk. It still wasn't enough, so he sweet-talked the steward into a couple more by claiming he'd suffered a serious head and back injury in the Expanse. Technically, this was even true.

Next he needed to find a supply of popcorn; this was easy since the galley stocked bags that could be microwaved. Gallantly, he chose the version without butter.

Then he just needed to pick the movie. Damn. Which one? He knew better than to pick another horror flick. He wanted something romantic that wasn't too obvious. _Casablanca _was out – it always made him cry. A comedy was asking for trouble because the chances were high that T'Pol wouldn't get it. _Wuthering Heights_? Nah, Heathcliff was a jackass. _Gone with the Wind_? Too many references to embarrassing episodes from Earth's history.

_Notorious_? That one had possibilities. Smoldering passion? Check. Brave sacrifices for a greater cause? Check. The guy finally gets the girl? Check. On the other hand, the girl was a mess. T'Pol might not sympathize with her. She'd probably identify with cool-headed, stick-to-the-job Cary Grant.

Oh great. _He_ was Ingrid Bergman and she was Cary Grant. It just figured.

But it was nearly time to eat and he couldn't think of a better choice. _Notorious _it would have to be.

x x x

She stopped just inside his quarters and turned to him. "It appears that you have gone to a great deal of trouble to ensure we watch this movie together in the same bed."

Trip gritted his teeth. She'd already expressed surprise that he hadn't used the passenger lounge to create a movie night for anybody who was interested, claiming that it was her understanding that movies were considered a communal event. "This is how I made it communal for _us_," he said. "You don't need to worry, I'll be a perfect gentleman."

"You have used that phrase on numerous occasions," she said, "But I am still not entirely clear as to its meaning."

"A perfect gentleman never does anything to a lady that he is not absolutely positive she will welcome. Have I _ever _made unwelcome advances to you?"

She appeared to consider this. "Does repeatedly importuning someone to participate in a viewing of a horror movie count as 'an unwelcome advance'?"

"No. An 'unwelcome advance' is understood to be an unwelcome sexual advance."

"Then no, you never have."

And this was certainly true. Trip was still uncertain enough of her signals to leave it entirely up to her to let him know when she wanted intimacy. Luckily she hadn't been shy – not that they'd had much time to indulge between alien Nazi time travelers and official Starfleet functions. "Well then," he said, "Why don't we sit down on the bed and watch the movie?"

"Very well." She removed her shoes and sat down on one end of the bed.

He sat closer to the middle. "Popcorn?" He held out the bowl.

"Is it logical to eat popcorn where you plan to sleep?"

"It is if you're watching a movie there," Trip said. He was beginning to wonder why he'd gotten so excited about this.

She grabbed a handful of popcorn and settled back.

Trip smiled – things were looking up – and started the movie.

x x x

After promising to be a perfect gentleman he'd certainly had to be one. At least it meant he could enjoy the movie without brooding over whether he should make a move.

"So what'd you think?" he asked, turning off the screen as the credits rolled.

"It was quite involving," T'Pol said. "The resolution was ... satisfying. But do you think two people with such a difficult history can be happy together?"

"You know, I never thought about that. I don't know. But I definitely get the feeling they'll be miserable if they aren't together."

Her brow furrowed as she considered this. "You have mentioned relationships you have had before. I recall a Lisa in particular. And yet, after they ended, you did not strike me as 'miserable'."

Trip grimaced. How to explain the difference between movies and real life? "I suppose most emotionally stable people move on if they have to. They get over it. If I'd had to see Lisa everyday, I might have been really unhappy for awhile, but she was far away. And there's a big difference between a short, not very intense relationship, and one that's deeper and results in, you know, marriage or something. When my grandma died, Granddaddy Charles died just a few weeks later – and he'd been in perfect health before. We all figured he just didn't want to go on without her."

T'Pol looked troubled. "A relationship between a human and a Vulcan seems likely to be problematic at best."

Their eyes locked. Trip couldn't help thinking this was the conversation we should have had _before_ they'd had sex. Now it seemed somehow irrelevant – to him, at least. "Guess I'm willing to chance it if you are," he said lightly.

"Why?" she asked.

"I don't exactly know," Trip said. "It's like this connection is just there, whether I want it or not. Like it's always been there." That didn't sound very romantic. Sort of like somehow he'd gotten himself yoked to her and now there was no escape. "But it's more than that. You just ... you make me happy."

Her eyes were wide. "You do not always seem happy when you are with me. I have noticed that there tends to be a great deal of ... arguing."

"Yeah, I know, but I even enjoy that, most of the time. Don't you?"

"In recent conversations you appear to have been trying to discover why I might wish to be with you. I am merely attempting to perform the same exercise."

"Yeah, well, I never really got a great answer from you either."

T'Pol frowned. "I hope it is not a bad omen when two people who want to be together aren't sure why."

He grinned. She'd admitted she wanted to be with him! "Maybe it's that old saying: _opposites attract_." He lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it, watching her face for any sign that he should cease and desist.

"Perhaps we should test that hypothesis," she said. She leaned forward to kiss him, and after that they undertook a long and not very scientific study of the matter.

**She's Decided to Marry_ Koss?_**

He found a quiet, shaded crevice near the entrance to the Fire Plains and leaned against the rock face, reeling.

How could she do this to him?

How could she do this to _herself? _

Because she's Vulcan, idiot. She's Vulcan, she's Vulcan, she's Vulcan. You knew this was stupid from the beginning, but you let yourself fall for her anyway, and now…

Oh God, he wanted to throw up. This couldn't be happening. She took him all the way home to meet her mother and now _this?_ He laid his cheek against the roughened rock face and tried to grasp his new, crazily tilted reality. The thinner atmosphere wasn't helping; he felt like a fish out of water, gasping for oxygen it simply couldn't take in.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? Hail a transport and head for the spaceport? Get himself to the consulate? Was it possible there might be a Starfleet vessel in orbit?

T'Pol and her mother could hardly blame him for bailing. _No one_ could blame him.

But he should have told her. He should have said, right there, that she was everything to him. That he couldn't bear to lose her. That she should marry _him_, not this joker Koss. What if he told her that now? Would she run away with him?

But she knew how he felt. She must know – even if he himself was shocked by the depth of desolation he was feeling.

He felt a small, familiar hand on his shoulder, but didn't turn around.

"Trip, if I could see any way out of this that wouldn't cause greater harm, I would take it."

"There has to be _some_ way."

"I've carefully considered every possible option. I can't find a way out. I'm sorry."

He turned around. "You're giving up too easily! Are you telling me we can defeat an entire race of trans-dimensional sphere builders but there's no way you can say no to one measly Vulcan?"

"It's not just one 'measly' Vulcan. It's thousands of years of Vulcan tradition. And it's my mother." T'Pol shook her head. "I wish…"

"What?" he snapped.

"I wish I'd never come home. I had no idea Koss and his parents would be so persistent."

She looked so miserable that his heart melted. He took her hand and she let him. They were in a relatively secluded nook; perhaps no one would notice the inappropriate contact. "Think we could get Daniels to take us back in time a week or so?"

"Do you know how to contact him?" Her tone was dry; he recognized a dark T'Pol joke when he heard one.

"He'd probably just say this doesn't matter enough in the vast scheme of things."

To his surprise, she leaned right into him. "It matters to me," she said into his chest.

He caressed her back. "Oh, T'Pol," he whispered. "What are we going to do?"

For a long moment she just nestled against him. Then she said, "I will do what I must. But I understand if you don't wish to see me again. I don't have to return to Enterprise."

His throat nearly closed up; he held her tighter. "Don't be ridiculous." He lifted her chin up so that he could meet her eyes. "Whatever happens, I will always be your friend."

She blinked, then ducked her head back down into his chest.

A older Vulcan couple walked by and glanced at them, then did a shocked double-take. T'Pol, still clinging to him, didn't notice. Trip gave them a ferocious stare and they hurried away. "I think we're scandalizing the locals," he said.

"I don't care."

"You don't?" He perked up. "Could a good scandal get you out of this?"

She stepped back and looked up at him. "I would have thought so. But I have disclosed things to Koss's family that should have dissuaded them from wanting anything to do with me. I even told them about my relationship with you. And still they insist on this joining." She shook her head. "I do not understand their logic. Koss's father seems to feel it is of utmost importance to get my mother's position reinstated. He also appears to believe that only this formal family tie will allow him to accomplish that."

Trip frowned. Was it possible Koss's father was sweet on T'Pol's mother? "I would think your mom would want you to be happy."

T'Pol's face darkened. "My mother believes that the only possible path to contentment lies in marriage to a Vulcan with full-blooded Vulcan children as the result."

Trip thought of Lorian with a pang. Then he thought of what Lorian had said about Trip's early death in that alternate timeline. That T'Pol had been a widow far longer than she had ever been married – and she would have been even if her Trip had lived a normal human lifespan. "Maybe she's right," he said roughly.

T'Pol turned surprised, possibly even hurt, eyes on him.

"It doesn't matter now anyway, does it? You're going to marry him, and I'm going to just have to … deal with it." He gave her a sad smile. "And I guess we'll be okay, one way or another. I hope…" He choked up. "I hope you know I'll always want only the best for you."

T'Pol burrowed into him again and they held on to each other tightly. Trip tried to get a grip on himself. He really didn't want to have an emotional meltdown in a Vulcan tourist park. "When's the wedding?" he asked.

"In two days."

His stomach dropped. Vulcans sure didn't waste any time. "Guess it doesn't take a whole lot of planning, then."

"It will be a small ceremony in our own courtyard."

He bit his lip, uncertain he really wanted to offer. "Do you … do you want me there?"

She looked up and searched his face. "Of course. But please do not feel obligated." She looked down. "I'm not sure I would be capable of doing the same if our positions were reversed."

"I'm sure you would if you thought it was the right thing to do," he said, holding her tighter than ever. "I guess I'll stick around, then."

"Thank you."

"Saying thank you is an earth custom," he said softly.

She looked up at him with the serious brown eyes he adored.

He needed to stop thinking that way. He took a deep breath and loosened his grip on her. "I guess we'd better get you back home."

**To be continued…**


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: And here's one last 'missing' scene from "Home" to finish this one off. Please let me know what you think!

**

* * *

**

Separation Anxiety

Trip spent the next morning making new travel arrangements. Once the wedding was over, he could hardly stay at T'Les's any longer, even if she did keep coming up with more appliances for him to fix. As it was, he'd offered to take a room somewhere to get out of their way, but T'Les had insisted there was no logic in that.

She was being downright solicitous now that she knew he wasn't going to ruin her daughter's life.

He wished he hadn't offered to stay. Vulcan was suddenly a hundred times hotter and drier than it had been just the day before. He remembered that he was no fan of deserts to begin with, and the sights he'd listed with such enthusiasm at the beginning of the trip no longer interested him. T'Pol was meditating a great deal, and an awkward stiffness had arisen between them even when she wasn't. He'd also lost all his patience for bland Vulcan cuisine.

He yearned for home so badly he could taste it, never mind that it was some new place he'd never seen in Mississippi. At least he'd be on his own planet with his own people. He wanted his mom to mother him; he wanted comfort food; he wanted to listen to depressing country music and drink too much beer.

The night before the wedding, T'Pol took him to a public moon garden in the center of the city. She explained that because Vulcan's moons reflected so much light and the days were too hot for many insects, many of the planet's flowering plants had evolved to release their scent at night. It was pretty, in a ghostly kind of way. Large glowing white flowers nodded eerily at them in the bright moonlight as the gravel crunched under their feet.

T'Pol sat down at a bench on the far end of the garden, next to a trickling urn and a solar lamp that provided only slightly more light than the moons did, and looked up at him. "You're quiet," she said.

He sat down next to her. He was surprised that Vulcans, with their sensitive noses, could stand the cloying sweetness of all these flowers. "I guess I don't have anything to say. I think we pretty much covered all the important points already."

She bowed her head and he got the feeling that he was letting her down somehow. He squeezed her hand briefly, then released it. "So explain the logic behind this garden, T'Pol. The paths meander inefficiently, it's using up valuable water resources, and it blooms when most people are asleep."

"Vulcans sleep less than humans, and as you may have noticed the temperature moderates significantly at night. This garden was designed to provide a pleasing aesthetic experience that combines scent, sound, and reflected light in a comfortable nocturnal setting."

"Yeah? So where is everybody?"

"Apparently they have found more profitable pursuits this evening." She frowned, perhaps at his combative tone. "It is also cold tonight by Vulcan standards."

He sighed and folded his arms. "On earth this would be a romantic place to take your girlfriend and make out. But on Vulcan nobody ever has a girlfriend, do they?"

She said nothing for a long moment. Then, softly, she said, "You are upset."

"Of course I'm upset. Tomorrow morning I have to watch you marry some guy you hardly know because of some hidebound Vulcan tradition that you don't even believe in."

"I never said I don't believe in the tradition."

He stared at her. "If you believed in it, then why the hell would you even think of screwing around with me?"

T'Pol voice got very low. "Would you prefer I had not?"

"No," he said. "No." He grabbed her hand again.

"This ceremony tomorrow is a legal formality," T'Pol said. "I consider it a contract I am undertaking to benefit my mother. I do not consider it truly binding until it is consummated, or until Koss and I begin to live together, and that may not happen for some time yet. Perhaps it will never happen at all."

Trip stared at her. "Meaning?"

"I see no reason to change my behavior simply because circumstances have forced me into this arrangement. If you wished to continue our relationship…"

"Wait a minute." He stared at her, appalled. "Are you getting married tomorrow or aren't you?"

"As I said..."

He stood up, the better to tower over her. "Don't give me that crap! You may want to put off consummating the thing, but tomorrow you are officially binding yourself to this guy for the rest of your life. If you're going to do this at _all _you better admit that you're doing it for real. And I don't know what kind of ethics you have on Vulcan but I sure as hell don't intend to sleep around with another man's wife!"

She stared up at him, her face small and white in the moonlight, and he began to regret yelling at her even if he couldn't regret the sentiments. But before he could apologize she was up on her feet, not looking at him at all. "We should go," was all she said, and he followed her out of the garden. They walked in silence up the long street to her mother's house, and into the courtyard and then the living room. The house was only dimly lit; it appeared T'Les had already retired.

"Goodnight, Commander," she said, and turned toward the other hallway.

"T'Pol," Trip said, "Look. I'm sorry. I'm … I'm having a hard time with all this."

"That is understandable," she said softly.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

For just a moment, before she schooled it into a chilly blankness, her face blazed with resentment. "Of course. Tomorrow I will be secluded in ritual meditation in the morning, then attended by my cousin as I dress for the wedding. So I will not see you until the ceremony. I am deeply sorry for what you have had to endure on this visit. I hope… I hope you have a safe journey home."

"Then this is goodbye?" He felt a surge of sheer panic.

She nodded without quite looking at him and held out her hand for a handshake.

He took it and suddenly he was drowning in a flood of despair and grief that was not his own – it was too flavored by an overwhelming sense of shame that simply wasn't his. He let go of her hand and the sensation diminished but did not disappear. He stared at her. She looked taken aback. "T'Pol?" he said. "What the hell was that?"

"I'm not sure."

"I felt you..." He could still feel a whisper of something. Puzzlement? Dismay?

Her expression resolved into something formal and the sensation disappeared. "I believe I require meditation."

Didn't she realize how insane this whole thing was? How completely and utterly wrong? "There's got to be some way out of this. We could call the consulate, right now. We could just go. Get off this damned planet, go back to Enterprise."

"And my mother?"

"She's a strong woman. She'll be okay. You can't go through with this!"

"Trip, this planet is my home. I am my mother's only child. I have no choice."

"That's bullshit and you know it!"

She gave him pretty much the same fondly exasperated look she'd give him if they were arguing over a bridge protocol. He felt a light touch of something in his head, almost as if she'd given him an affectionate pat. "I'm sorry," she said, and walked away.

And that was it. It was over.

So he went to his room and packed his duffels and stared at the Vulcan robes T'Les had hung in the closet for him to wear tomorrow. A strange numbness crept over him and he prepared for bed without thinking about anything except that he should remember to pack his toothbrush and razor in the morning; he planned to leave just as soon as the ceremony was over.

Only when he turned out the light and lay down on the bed in the moonlight did thoughts start crowding in. Was there something he was missing here? Something _he_ could do, instead of waiting for T'Pol to suck it up and tell them all to go to hell, which was about as likely as some intergalactic fairy godmother floating over to Vulcan and starting to throw fairy dust around?

And then he had a very dark idea: What if he _killed _Koss? The man was taking away _his _woman! He was trying to steal something that didn't belong to him! Trip would fight him and kill the bastard! He imagined wrapping his hands around the Vulcan's neck, pressing down with all his strength, crushing the man's windpipe, pulverizing his spine under his fingers with the sheer force of his fury.

He sat up and blinked. Where the hell had thatcome from? It was ridiculous. He had about as much chance of killing a healthy Vulcan male as he had of growing wings, and even if he could the idea was barbaric. T'Pol was a grown woman. If she decided to marry Koss instead of him, that was just his tough break.

Not that he'd ever asked her to marry him, had he? Never got around to that little detail. Never even realized he _wanted_ to get around to that little detail until it was too late. He was a goddamned fool. But would that really have changed anything?

Why the hell had she taken him to that garden tonight of all nights, to sit in the moonlight among the flowers? Was she trying to torture him?

Was she trying to make love to him?

She had been telling him that nothing had to change, that they could continue their relationship, that maybe somehow this would all amount to nothing in the end. And he'd thrown it right back in her face. If he couldn't have all of her then by God he didn't want _any _of her. He'd extinguished any hope she'd managed to conjure out of this situation, even if it was a stupid, self-deceiving hope. Even if it was a hope that was profoundly unfair to him.

Oh, T'Pol. All that despair, all that shame. Shame that he had helped to heap upon her. If she hadn't felt all alone in the universe before, she surely did now.

As did he.

And yet, perversely, he felt more bound to her than ever.

FIN


End file.
